The Birth Of The Warchild
The woman was somewhere in her early fifties but still striking, a handsome woman some would say. Streaks of white through her black hair told the world she wasn’t too worried about aging but that she was doing it gracefully anyway. “You don’t look local, you don’t look like a tourist either. You’ve come a long way on whatever your business is,” She told the stranger, a tall, thin man in a black suit and leather overcoat. “Ireland isn’t so far,” the man responded, his tone threatening -almost habitually so-, perhaps suggesting nowhere was too far, but if the woman picked up the threat she did not show it. “Tell me the story,” The man continued as she led him through the house to her table. There was no crystal ball, she found them showy and a little tacky, though there were tarot cards. She didn’t bother to pull them out, this man wasn’t here for his own fortune. “What story is that?” She asked casually, gesturing him to a seat, taking her own. “The story. The one you’ve been telling for the past year. I’ve come to hear it first-hand.” “You’re one of them, aren’t you,” She asked, fear constricting her throat though she tried not to show it. “Oh yes. You may think of lying to me, thinking you’re being brave. But you won’t lie to me. You’ll tell me the absolute truth because you know the breadth of our wrath once incurred. You’ve never bred, have you. But… a brother -no. A sister. This branch of the Abrahamic followers are… fecund. So you’ll tell me all and you won’t lie and in return I won’t wipe your clan from the face of the earth, down to the last forgotten third cousin by marriage.” Defeat showed in her features though she tried to hide her fear and she gestured him to sit again. “You may as well sit. I don’t know how much you know… so I’ll tell you the whole story.” *** The child was born on a battlefield, legends would later repeat -some would embellish- and this much was true. He was conceived on a battlefield too, which the legend-tellers mostly don’t know. His creation was the result of war. War between pantheons and war between Erebus and The Godkiller. The Godkiller met Deception herself, Apate, when he was betrayed and placed in an asylum. Though they couldn’t know it, they had much in common already at that time, he and her. She tricked him into releasing her for she had been abandoned by her family, while he was unable to turn to his for help. Many say The Godkiller took Apate for his bride to spite her father, his greatest enemy, The Emperor of the Dark, Erebus. But this is foolishness. He loved her soon after they met, though he told no-one and denied it even to himself. When The Godkiller led the final assault on Tartarus she was by his side, her powers of illusion and his terrible gift for violence formed a partnership so that even in battle, they were clearly made for each other. It was in one such battle that she created a fog of confusion and they lay together for the first time as enemy soldiers rode around seeking their blood. The child was conceived there, in Tartarus. Conceived under illusion, while his mother’s powers were in effect all around them. Remember that, stranger. As is the way with the gods sometimes, he was born only a couple of days later, sudden and completely unexpected. Apate fell ill during the final day’s fighting. They were in Clearwater as it had been recreated for the pleasure of the Emperor, twenty of them against two thousand of the most dangerous soldiers who ever lived and died, men from all causes and creeds but united in the livery of Erebus. When she fell ill, The Godkiller’s face showed fear like none of them had ever seen. Perhaps the battle could have been lost, so important was his confidence to his companions, but Apate knew the truth and said she was with child and that it was fitting he should be born here, in Clearwater. The Godkiller followed after Apate and their friend, the child of Aphrodite, leaving the rest to press the attack he defended the way until they were in the Half Moon Diner. He shored up the entrances but knew he must leave an exit for fear the enemy would simply bring the building down upon himself and his companions. So it was that The Godkiller fought while his son was born, standing over him, shedding his own blood and the blood of his foes to keep him safe. Who knows how many men he killed to protect the birth of the child, I have no taste to know the number. When the child was born he took a moment from the battle, sealing the doors, incautious for just a moment in his need to see his son. He knelt and took both mother and child in his arms and spoke a blessing, drawing a bird of prey in quick sketches on the child’s chest with a bloody hand, a baptism of sorts in the blood of his father. “This child will never fear, neither the gods or anything else. Where I was outside fate but cursed just the same, he will never feel a curse upon him and know good fortune. He will have the gifts of his father and mother and his heart will be kind because his birth lightened this terrible, bloody day.” The rest of what he said was the talk of lovers and young parents and I think even in your desire for the whole story, you won’t care to hear it? I thought not. The Godkiller stood wearily to open the path to lead mother and child somewhere safe, but when he readied to open the barriers he saw the hulking form of Leviathan, one of the Princes of Hell, waiting. Several of the other companions were nearby, guarding the door. Leviathan walked in and leaned down to examine the newborn, then looked around with his general’s eye at all the dead surrounding the birth. “He’s a little Warchild, ain’t he,” he said with a rare smile. That was when I first heard the name. I woke from sleep to the word, as though it were burned into my brain. It was the same everywhere. Prophets and seers of every pantheon and no pantheon, from the gods of prophecy down to the lowest charlatan, all heard the name that day, though not all would know the story as I do. *** Apate stood hidden on a rooftop as The Godkiller returned to battle. Her newborn child in her arms, her illusion protecting them both like swaddling cloth as she aided her beloved as they fought. When the time came and all The Emperor’s troops were gone, The Godkiller faced him alone. Erebus cursed his family as The Godkiller tore his heart out, saying he would ensure no generation of The Godkiller’s family would ever know peace. The Godkiller had nothing further to say to his arch rival though, taking the blackened tiny thing that was The Dark Emperor’s heart and showing it to him for its final beats, as he had vowed he would. Much of the rest is common knowledge, at least among your kind. How The Godkiller freed Lucifer from his shackles, how he spared Nyx and Momus and freed Hera and a mortal from the dungeons of Erebus’s manor. There is some uncertainty on a part of this story: how The Godkiller came by the key to the shackles, which was said to be held by Thanatos, god of death. Some say The Godkiller had won his respect, others say that Thanatos cared not about the fate of Lucifer now that his dark master was dead. I believe he feared though. What could frighten the god of death? The death of gods, of course. The child grew as a human child would, no more quickly. He was only a couple of months old when his father was called to help the Olympians. The most formidable of the Four Horsemen, Death, sat on the throne of Apollo by the folly of Zeus and he threatened to destroy Aether, the air of the gods, making Olympus uninhabitable to the Olympians. You can ask me why The Godkiller did what he did, but I don’t know. I can tell you what I do understand: He and Apate brought Pandora’s box to seal Death inside, but when he opened it Aether was sucked in too. Why did The Godkiller dive in after them both, when all that was at stake was the home of The Olympians, who had betrayed and ill-treated him from the beginning? I simply do not know. *** That night a new constellation appeared in the heavens, Death and The Godkiller locked in battle. Some say they will be there until the stars fade, an eternal conflict. Others, of course, say it’s only a matter of time until The Godkiller finds a way to kill his enemy for good, as is his way. But you’re not here to hear speculations, you’re here for the story. When the box could not be opened and The Godkiller did not emerge for three days, Apate knew she must make her child safe. The founding of House Corvin at a time when the universe was in such flux had brought a great many eyes upon them. This was well and good while The Godkiller was present, however he may have said he was finished killing, the gods tread lightly while they knew he was there. She disappeared with her child, perhaps to Tartarus, perhaps to Hell, perhaps somewhere else, but they have never been found. That is all I have for you, stranger, I’m sure you know if I knew more I would tell it rather than face your wrath. *** The woman closed her eyes, telling the tale had left her weary and sad. She waited, not knowing if these were her final breaths. When she opened her eyes the stranger was gone, a single golden coin lay on her table, bearing a symbol of a sickle on a chain. *** It was a few days later that she was visited again, another stranger. This one was tall and powerful, had long dark hair and rode a motorcycle, looked to her like something from a music video. He asked for the story too, his manner easily as frightening as the visitor before him, but he made no threats. She told him as much as she’d told the first man and waited like she’d done before, to see if she would be allowed to live. “The rest.” And then, after a pause, “Please.” His tone surprised her, terse he may have been but the ‘please’ was genuine. She opened her eyes to meet his gaze and saw sorrow and duty, further surprising her. “I have… a debt,” He said reluctantly when she did not respond, his voice a near-growl. “I don’t know where he is, young man,” she said sadly, truthfully. “Nor the mother.” “Please. Tell me as much as you know.” She had held back from first visitor, perhaps out of stubbornness. But she found she was willing to finish the story for this serious young man sitting opposite her. *** I don’t know the origins of the curse. Perhaps they tried to curse the child first, but his father’s blessing held true and they could not. Such a clever, cruel thing to do, to curse Apate instead. She went to the son of Thor, who knows the paths through time itself and she asked him to take her and her child to another time so they could be away from the eyes of those who would do them harm. I know she took the child to the past, but I can’t be sure how far. I don’t think very far, though. A few years perhaps, so that when the child reaches manhood it will be another few years beyond now. And I know the curse. Apate was stripped of her memory. Wherever and whenever she went, she forgot she was a god, forgot her name, forgot who was the father of her son and the love of her life. I sense she raised -or is raising- the boy alone, plagued by a terrible sadness for loss she can’t remember. I believe the boy has lived as a mortal because of this. But his blood will tell, sooner or later. Perhaps you wonder whether he’ll follow his father and drench this world once again in the blood of the gods. I know I do. Or if he’ll bring peace, as he brought joy to his parents on the battlefield on the day of his birth. But I don’t know where he is. I’m sorry. Even the son of Thor doesn’t know, so strong was the curse. If you’ll give me your hand though? *** The woman was surprised to see the intimidating figure across the table withdrawing his hand suddenly, shaking his head. “Best that one like you doesn’t touch one like me.” He stood, placing a single gold coin on the table. At first she thought it was just like the first, a sickle on a chain, but then she noticed minor details differed. Odd, how similar they were and yet not the same. She hadn’t voiced her suspicion of who her first visitor was and she didn’t voice her suspicion of this one’s identity either. She stood too, somehow she felt sorry for him and wanted to walk him out. She stepped too close though. She didn’t even touch him, but must have gotten close enough just the same. She fell against the doorway, clawing at it for balance, then fell to her knees, gasping for air. “It is you,” She managed to say, her own heartbeat deafening in her ears. “You will see the child. I don’t know when, but you will. No blessing can make this world safe for that boy, not even his father’s. But before this year is out, you will see him.” The man hesitated as though to help her up but with a look of something like apology he simply turned and walked out, she hoped never to return. Back to Stories Of The Metalverse